


broken tape

by ascendedGodhead



Series: edges (eng) [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Break Up, Depression, Humanstuck, Loneliness, M/M, Mental Instability, Miscommunication, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:29:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24603169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ascendedGodhead/pseuds/ascendedGodhead
Summary: id like to raise my cup of coffee to the nevergreenthank you so much for translation and all the improvements
Relationships: Eridan Ampora/Dave Strider
Series: edges (eng) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1778569
Kudos: 20





	broken tape

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nevergreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevergreen/gifts).



> id like to raise my cup of coffee to the nevergreen  
> thank you so much for translation and all the improvements

Dave’s hoodie is still in your lower drawer. You don’t want it to smell like you. You don’t want to see it at all.

You haven’t seen each other for seventeen days, and you feel like all your nerves are burned up. You’re like a fish, taken away from water, caught on a hook, and every time you try to swim away someone tugs the line.

Water is tinted with blood.

You’ve been going over everything that happened before your so-called breakup in your head so many times, it’s almost like a mantra at this point. 

Here’s you and him at Primavera arguing, then you’re having a lengthy conversation with Dirk, understanding exactly nothing but pretending you do, it hurts, everything hurts, Dirk is speaking at length about his brother’s problems, he’s the embodiment of worry and exhaustion. You’re oscillating between understanding and anger, you bottle them both up. 

This is until you’re on a line for a hundredth time, there are beeps and then Dave’s voice, and you’re blazing like a flash powder.

Then there’s a bunch of flowers in your hall, you open your fridge and take the milk absent-mindedly while opening the chat, there’s a mugshot of a random fish and you’re smiling, until. 

You remember his messages word for word, despite Dave Strider in his apologetical state being even less comprehensible than usual. There’s a tangible guilt and mental exhaustion behind every single letter (“sorry if it doesnt make sense ive slept for like three hours yesterday i guess i just dozed off in shower not like the full doze off thing but

fuck what im even talking about”)

Actually, he tells you he needs to be alone for a while.

You know perfectly well what it means.

You texted him plain, pathetic, washed up “please dont let it get you down i hope youll be alright”, it sounds fake and crapped out, can someone please finish the poor thing off?

You sat down, then, and all the floodgates opened. You only had a couple of minutes before the alarm going off, before you need to go to work, and, somehow, that was enough for the first wave to let up, for your insides to stop burning, for your head to stop pulsating with “we’re breaking up he’s dumping me i knew he doesn’t actually need me i’ve always known.”

Actually, you feel better afterwards. You’ve read the dialogue so many times, it’s almost unimaginable, and you grasped the meaning behind, you even managed to squeeze it into your narrative: ultimately, all people need to be alone sometimes. You don’t know what exactly happened, just that Dave is off his stride because of this, and he needs time. Dirk is his brother, you don’t know their shared past and people don’t snap like that because of nothing. You take a deep breath and you believe in it, you really do. You hope. Everything will be alright.

When you facetime your father, he points out you look quite well, “that’s the spirit”, he says.

You’re drugged up to the gills with sedatives and just laugh.

ascend

You take a deep breath, once again, and think about Dave; the feeling is akin to submerging into the sea, to going back home, to finding your own light. You brush the kitchen table with your fingers and think about how he likes listening to you with his head on the arms crossed; how you kiss the back of his head and he lets out a choked sigh. You look at the carton of apple juice in your fridge, at the quick memo he left on a torn out notebook sheet. There’s an angular sketch of the city on the inner side, “buy some coffee plz” on the outer.

Also “i love you”.

You’re in your bedroom, curling up in a ball because you didn’t change your bedsheets since the day you two had a fight and it’s your own small space that smells like calm and tranquility. The weather outside is changing constantly, it’s cloudy, then rainy, sunny, windy and cloudy again. The world is getting bigger, you're going to work, you're arguing over the new task, exchanging gossip in the meeting room, darkened and closed, something with somebody right next to a water dispenser (you want to scream), you're making sounds, pushing them out in the air, and going back in a taxi (“turn the music off, i mentioned it in the comments”) to the only place where you can be. 

Tempus edax rerum.

Dave still hasn’t written anything. You look at your inbox, which is either empty or full of CG, CC, TT even, look at Dave’s comments under his own tracks, at his patreon updates, and there’s nothing for your hopes to hold onto.

That is to say, you’re glad that he’s doing good with his life, you just want to either be in it or not be at all.

CA: kar

CA: i knoww its three in the morning

CA: but i need to get it off my chest

CA: i hope youre sleepin

CA: ill fuckin delete all of it after anywway

CG: ARE YOU OKAY?

CG: OF FUCKING COURSE, THE BEST YOU’VE EVER BEEN, NO SHIT. I’M LIKE THE SHARPEST TOOL IN THE SHED. A ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR ME.

CG: YOU CAN VENT AS MUCH AS YOU WANT OKAY?

CG: I’M GOING TO MAKE SOME TEA

CA: im goin nuts

CA: davves gone and its been

CA: hella long

CA: yesterday i wwent to wwork and evverything wwas closed because

CA: wweekends

CA: and i literally havve nothin to do

CA: it wwould be easier at wwork

CA: i cant stay home

CG: YEAH THAT SHIT IS SOME UNDYING FUCKING CLASSICS. BRING ME STRIDER I’LL KICK THE FUCK OUT OF HIM.

CA: ivve been thinkin about this more often than i should

CG: MORE OFTEN THAN YOU SHOULD MY ASS, WHAT THE FUCK ERI? HE SHOULD BE THANKFUL YOU DIDN’T TELL HIM TO FUCK OFF AFTER THAT SHITSHOW WITH DIRK.

CG: OH WAIT HE SHOULDN’T IT’LL BE EASIER FOR YOU THIS WAY.

CG: I DON’T WANT TO SHATTER THE HOLY FUCK OUT OF YOUR HOPES AND DREAMS BUT DAVE STRIDER IS A STUPID FUCK.

CG: WITH A FOCUS ON THE STUPID PART BECAUSE HE’S NOT THAT MALICIOUS JUST A SELFISH FUCKER.

CA: kar lets not

CA: not all this stuff

CG: OK.

It’s 3:11 A.M, you hug your pillow and close your eyes. One day you’ll snuggle up in Dave’s arms, just like you did every time you felt like shit, and tell him how you were bitching to Karkat about him. Dave will definitely roll his eyes and joke about his exes plotting against him. You will elbow him in the ribs, and that’s, in fact, exactly what he deserves.

You’re smiling.

Dies irae, dies illa.

One day, the whole “he hasn’t written for __ days” device in your head just gets jammed. Instead of constant sorrow, dull and nagging, you start to feel your blood boiling. He has a hard time, he has problems, he has whatever the fuck it is, but you, apparently, don’t even deserve to be treated like a normal person. That’s for people around him, the ones he speaks with, the commenters, a fucking pizza delivery dude, but not for you, because who are you, really, you were just his partner, his lover, someone who was close to him.

If you could, you would cancel this thought, un-think it, you’d forbid yourself to open this door, long ago sealed shut.

_What did you do for him to make him want to stay?_

_What do you have in you to make him want it?_

_You were honest with him, you were sincere, you’ve been yourself, that’s the answer._

_It’s just he doesn’t need you._

You try not to listen to your inner voice. It laughs.

_No one needs you the way you are._

In spite of it, you text Feferi.

She’s asleep - somewhere, thousands of kilometres away. She wakes up then, brushes her teeth, dresses up, puts light makeup and thick sunscreen on her face. Only after that, sitting in her private car – it’s air-conned, nice and cool inside – she texts you back.

She writes “for a second I felt like I’m 16 again and that’s AWFUL” and “I don’t know what happened but if you’re not drunk and being serious about all this, then I’m not the one you should text to!”

Of course, she’s right.

You consider texting Roxy, but she and Dirk are connected and it’s kind of nerve-wracking.

Why should you text someone, in the first place, if it’s not going to help you?

The only people who can appreciate you fussing around, _vomiting words spastically are the ones who you draw a check after every session. Do you remember how you gave money to a person to spend some time with you when you were 20?_

I didn’t give Dave money, you say out loud. He was living with me, _you didn’t give him a choice_.

He made a choice to be with me, you say, louder this time. Your reflection looks at you, despair in the eyes. You don’t know the person in the mirror. You continue to talk.

It doesn’t matter why and for how long, it was his own choice, _and now he’s choosing something else_ , and yes, things got really ugly, but that’s just how life is, it happens, it’s not the end of the world, your relationship ended but love is still there and will always be, _it fills up your lungs with water, your blood with poison, your heart with lead_ , but the only thing I wanted is to just be with him, you cry out, but he doesn’t want it anymore, face it.

When you finally stop crying, your head hurts so much, you can’t even move.

it costs

You burned your hand not long ago while cooking, and now pain eats you away every time you move it.

You remember every scar on Dave’s arms. He didn’t give a shit, what’s the point worrying over small cuts? He was protecting you from everything, though, even if there was nothing to worry about. 

What a joy to be alive, you think and press the cold wineglass where it hurts. Your heart is in pieces, you can’t sleep well, you can’t eat because to heat up a goddamn bowl of soup is a problem, and you can't even make your thoughts flow like they’re supposed to.

Your back hurts like hell because your favourite pool is closed and you, being stupidly childish and stubborn, refuse to visit any other.

You just want your life back, and words don’t have a price tag, unless they’re priceless, and you have everything connected in your head: you know how, what and to whom you should write, of course, he’s the first in your contact list, you used to text him a lot, talking about the way you feel, the stuff you went through, everything you knew, everything you saw and noticed, _an endless sea of everythings, more than enough to drown anyone_.

You tried many, many times.

You drink silently at the bar for the rest of the evening. To raise a glass once to greet an impeccable blonde next to you is the comprehensive listing of your social advances.

Al agua, a las algas, a la sal

You think how you want to lie down at the seashore and slit your wrists up to the elbow while water is rising, washing your blood down, and then you shall be no more, maybe there will be nothing of you left as you will become one with the sea, you always wanted to be a part of something bigger, you will decompose into salt, and water, and shines, and pitch black depth.

You don’t want to slit your wrists, but your sleeping pills do weird things to your head.

One day you sleep for 20 hours straight, and when you wake up there are a whole lot of new texts on your phone, and you look through them in search of red.

There is none of it.

That’s probably for the better, you think.

You would have been happier without yourself as well.

Voy a hablar de la esperanza

CG: YOU’RE GOING FROM ONE EXTREME TO ANOTHER.

CG: EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED WITH THE PLANET FROM THE GOGDAMN DAY OF YOUR BIRTH IS NOT YOUR FUCKING FAULT.

CG: AND THE FACT THAT SOMEONE DROPPED DAVE FACE DOWN AND NOW HE’S SLIGHTLY FUCKED IN THE HEAD BUT WE HAVE A BUNCH OF OTHER REASONS TO LOVE HIM, IS NOT YOUR FAULT AS WELL.

CG: OH WAIT WE DON’T HAVE ANY.

CG: SORRY THAT I'M BIASED, UNREASONABLE, ETC ETC, BUT WE FUCKED WITH EACH OTHER FOR ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES AND IT GOT ME BLOCKED EVERYWHERE BECAUSE HE DIDN’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT HIMSELF AND WACKY SHIT HE DID TO THE EXTENT WHERE HE DECIDED IT’S BETTER TO JUST FUCKING SCRATCH IT OVER. I WOULD UNDERSTAND IF IT WAS FOR THE FIRST TIME, BUT OH NO, DUDE’S GOT HIMSELF A SWEET FUCKING HOBBY. GOOD MORNING CLASS ITS DAVE 101 TODAY WE’LL SHIT OUR PANTS AND BE SAD ABOUT IT.

CG: I BET RIGHT NOW HE’S SITTING FULL OF SORROW AND GETTING HAMMERED THINKING HOW MUCH OF A DICKHEAD HE IS.

CG: WHICH IS TRUE, BY THE WAY.

CG: NOW YOU HAVE TO LIVE WITH IT.

The bunch of flowers you dried before crumbles under your fingers into a fine dust, you dump apple juice down the sink, call a cleaning service and consider rearranging your furniture.

You always knew how to be alone, you always knew how to burn down (your own) hope.

It’s just you forgot how much it hurts.

_You reap what you sow._

Today I’m suffering alone.

You think about mailing him the hoodie but you’re too weak.

Fugint d’aquest present

You eat your tranks and jam them with neuroleptics, being all conscious, sensible and thoughtful. All your neural pathways would abandon you if they could. You force yourself to think about Dave, about the way light was falling on his face, illuminating his sharp features, how you used to kiss him or touch his cheekbone, every time, and he would catch your palm and brush his lips over your fingers; you think about his photos, about how silly things started between you two: you wanted to touch him from the very first second; how much you demanded from him, even then, about his smile, his heart beating under your palm, about the way he squints on the sun even with the shades on, how he likes to talk with his computer, how he bites lips nervously, how he likes to press his forehead against your shoulder, how you wanted to spend your whole life together with him, and he didn’t, how it’s impossible to watch movies together because he comments everything that happens on the screen and makes you laugh all the time, but how often you made him feel happier? be honest, about that one time you went at the exhibition of contemporary art and he was criticizing everything he saw and then he suggested to spill the coffee and throw a bunch of plastic spoons there, to m.ke ev.r.one thi.k th..s a p.ece .f art and t.e tho.gh. a.out ec.l.gy w.s th. on.y th.ng th.t st.pp.d ... .nd .n. t.m. ..en you m.t .....

.............................................................................................................................................................................................................................

You wake up; everything that was still alive in you is washed away.

of cold and sharp

“Why is it so hard to break up in 21th century,” you ask your own ashtray.

Your weaknesses are stronger than you.

You would prefer to know nothing of him a couple of years more, but you’re just a human being, and every day wears you out.

He’s there, somewhere, updating something, texting and laughing, and all your thoughts are just “ _Oh._ ” Every text you've sent is either read and unanswered or deleted: you don’t want him to remember you like this, to have a proof this side of you exists, you almost hate yourself. Wrath and despair produces monsters.

That’s because you have pretty much nothing to say; love is dead, long live the love.

That’s a lie, you’re just afraid to love (him).

You’re afraid he doesn’t need your love.

Even if he was happy with you, it came to an end pretty quickly, what can you give him, a tiny shard of a whole world?

You were holding onto him; every time you hugged him you felt you’re able to breathe, and now when he’s not around, it’s the usual stuff going on: you’re drowning and it stretches through the time dreadfully. 

You’re not dead enough for it to be noticed right away, you’re not alive enough to be among the people, your back is cut open and filled with pitch black.

Maybe you should let your hair grow.

_oh fuck sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you_

You’re very cozy in your blanket, it’s wrapped around you covering your ear, it’s soft and you feel sleepy, but if you don’t go outside today, Karkat will definitely kick your ass, because you dumped him with the meeting twice at this point. You also need to buy some fish food (you can almost hear Dave’s “hey stripey dude” in your head but it doesn’t bother you anymore), and that’s a mortifying obligation of living in the world full of responsibilities and duties (you chose them all yourself) which makes you sigh and frown while dragging yourself to the shower, getting your hair done, picking a fragrance.

Inside the inky darkness of your bedroom the phone flashes a bright light.

Again.

And again.


End file.
